One Good Deed
by Kasai Ame
Summary: Need help. Soon. Be careful. After weeks of nightmares and this cryptic message, Meg makes her way to China. Though John seems less than pleased to see her, Terrence Wei's associates couldn't be more excited. Or trigger-happy.
1. The Telegram

**Author's Note:**

I know, I shouldn't be starting new stories when I already have two to finish. But I worship "The Replacement Killers". I've thought about writing this for years, so I just decided to. Meg Coburn is a sexy badass, and John Lee (one of my favorite roles for Chow Yun-Fat) is a man I could fall in love with. This movie BEGS for fanfiction.

**Enjoy.**

* * *

In twenty-two days there are 528 hours, and in those hours are 31,680 minutes, and all those minutes contain 1,900,800 seconds. Which leads me to the actual point of this observation: It had been three weeks. _Three long, quiet, goddamn weeks. _When a person has 1,900,800 seconds to think during the day (and dream during the night), you can imagine how restless that person can get.

I woke with a start from my bed, my hand twitching towards the gun on my bedside table. Sweat soaked my cotton sheets and the nightgown I was wearing stuck to me like a second skin. Deep breaths kept me focused as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. Street lamps poured dim lighting through the only window in my room and illuminated the droplets of rain thundering against it.

This wasn't unusual for me. A few hours' sleep, plagued by dreams that were either flashes of my past or nightmares of the future. I saw Lester leering at me from the kitchen next to Joey's dead body. I saw a group of stupid thugs kicking the shit out of some poor old woman and her daughter. I saw a beautiful man closing his eyes as bullets tore through his body, his blood soaking the streets of Shanghai. And then I would wakeup, curse a little, and make myself a cup of coffee. During the day I checked my phone messages and my mail slot like Jesus Christ himself would pop out of it.

I missed the old days of saying, "What the fuck do I care? It's not my problem." Because that wasn't true anymore. _John's_ problems had become _my_ problems, and as much as I'd like to hate it, I didn't. Not really. But I sure as hell liked to bitch about it.

The clock on the wall read '1:30'. I had handled those three weeks pretty well, but somehow it bothered me that a whole new week was starting. It just…shouldn't have taken that long to find his mother and sister…and those passports I had made were flawless. Surely he wouldn't have staid in China for good?

"Damn it, John." I hissed, shoving a filter into my cheap coffee pot. I had no guarantees he would come back. Sometimes I imagined him walking into my apartment with a smile on his face, as if he would come back to the states just for me. He wasn't like anybody I'd ever met, and I wanted to protect that so fiercely that it made my heart ache sometimes.

Meg Coburn has a heart? Yeah, _right_.

* * *

Morning took forever to come, but when it finally did, it seemed too soon. I jumped in the shower, brushed my teeth, and dressed in a clean set of bra and underwear. Light blue, with a touch of lace on the edges. I was still 'unemployed', not sure whether to get a real job or continue dabbling with forged documents, so getting dressed seemed really overrated. And besides, what better way to distract some asshole pointing a gun at me?

My hair hung wet around my shoulders, and as I started putting my silver rings back on, I noticed my henna tattoos were starting to fade. Now I know what you're thinking, so don't even start with me. Hennas are such a New Age fad; they're for hippies and losers who burn incense and are too afraid to get real tattoos. I happen to _like_ incense, as a matter of fact. I also happen to really, really hate needles. Somehow my thought process drifted to a certain China man again, and I felt relieved when the phone started to ring.

"Yeah?" I tried to sound as annoyed and put-out as possible.

"Yo, babe, you gotta' learn to _relax._"

"Loco," I sighed. "What have you got for me?"

"Mm, lot's of things. I'm like your personal fucking Santa Clause."

"I'm hanging up now."

"Wait! Wait! Just kidding, babe. I heard some news down in Chinatown."

"Spill."

It was his turn to sigh now. "Got it through the grape vine that a first class package was delivered to a local temple. Some people got itchy about it, thought maybe it had to do with Terrence Wei or one of his drug-running friends. Turned out to be a telegram or somethin'."

"Do you have the message?"

"You have to pick that up yourself. I think your name got mentioned somewhere in there."

"You think? Loco, your information has more holes than Swiss cheese."

"Whatev. I don't owe you _shit_. As a matter of fact…I think you owe _me_ a car and a case full of guns and ammo."

"You better crawl back to your gutter before I pop a cap up your ass," I laughed before dropping the phone back in its cradle.

* * *

Though I didn't have a name to go on, I recalled the temple John had taken me to after he had been shot, and I figured that was it. It was a private establishment for real worshippers- not one of those tourist stops that seems to pollute L.A.. The entrance looked like a rundown martial arts center; a great flashing sign of 'WE DON'T HAVE ANY MONEY, AND WE CAN KILL YOU WITH OUR PINKY FINGERS.' I stepped through to the desk in the center of the room and waited until someone approached me. An old, bald man with liver spots and plain clothes stared at me for a few minutes, trying to discern if I was trouble.

I'd thrown on my nice white coat, a pair of khaki slacks and a white t-shirt, so I wasn't blaring the 'tourist' vibe. I'd hoped I was throwing off more of the 'friend of a professional killer' vibe, but you never knew. The old man hobbled forward and asked me if I was lost.

"No, I'm looking for someone."

His smile brightened a little, but I couldn't tell why. Why are all Chinese men so damn mysterious?

"Who?" he asked.

"John Lee?"

"No John Lee here. Sorry." His English was very shaky, I noticed.

"I didn't think he _was_ here. I'm pretty sure he's in China right now. Could you deliver a message for me?"

"Lot of John Lees in China," he spoke thoughtfully.

"I just want one," I sighed. "If you hear from him, tell him Meg Coburn was here for him."

"Meg?" came a voice from down the hall. The old man I was speaking to looked sharply over his shoulder. A slightly younger man appeared, dressed in full priest's robes. He looked excited.

"Yeah?"

"Come," he beckoned. "I've been waiting for you."

The old man in front of me stepped aside in compliance as I headed towards the hall. My brown sandals echoed loudly off the scuffed wood as we walked down a long hallway and started into a familiar room. Candlelight and incense made it hard to see and breathe for a moment.

"This is it." He handed me a piece of paper that looked a little worse for wear. My heart beating wildly with excitement, I opened it like a kid at Christmas.

My face fell.

"I can't read this. It's written in Chinese characters."

"Darn," he muttered. "I was hoping you could read it yourself. My Chinese is terrible. "

I blinked at him in disbelief for a moment. "Can you try?"

He took the letter back and slipped a pair of reading glasses on his weathered face, then looked back up to me.

"Meg Kaburn. _Coburn_, I mean. Tell." He squinted a little more at the next few lines. "Something about…help? Need help? Soon. Be fool of care. No, no, _full_ of care. Careful."

My eyes closed tightly. _I knew it_, I told myself. _John ran into trouble, and he needs my help. _My nightmares probably weren't too far from the truth.

"Where is he?" My voice was a little shaky. My mind, however, was busy adding up numbers and contacts, imagining ways to find Wei's old allies and making deals for weapons and ammo. It would be some serious work on my part.

I felt an envelope being pushed into my hand. The sender address was blank- no way to know. But the priest looked at me for a moment and smiled excitedly.

"Canton." he said. "I heard one of the other priests talking about it. John Lee's family was moved to Canton."

I managed a quick thank-you and ran as fast as I could up the stairs, down the hallway and out the door. The next flight to China was mine- unless I was already too late? I tried not to think about it.

Somewhere behind me the old man with liver spots started yelling at the younger priest in furious Chinese, and _boy_ did he sound pissed off. My car (Loco's, for now) started with a roar, and I was already turning onto the main road by the time the two had run outside to call me back.

* * *

**Author's Note- **I'm sure nobody will read this, seeing as this movie is pretty old and had some bad media hype. I think there are only two other stories for it here on . But if you do read this, know that I totally appreciate it.


	2. Already Dead

**Author's Note:**

I'm so pleased at how many reviews I've gotten! You guys are amazing!

* * *

I don't know if you've ever been on an international flight, but they suck. Business class isn't so bad if you don't mind paying an arm and a leg- they actually have seats that turn into beds, and you get plenty of foot room. Unfortunately, I had no idea how much my rescue mission was going to cost me, so it was coach all the way. On the other hand, I still felt pretty lucky. One of the perks of being a producer of 'forged documents' is that I have a fantastic set all my own. My passport was impeccable, my birth certificate (with a new name, of course) was on hand, and I even had papers that declared I was already checked through customs and free to go. The plane ticket was the only thing I couldn't fix up.

My disposable cell phone started ringing as I neared my gate. Was it my imagination, or were a hundred eyes suddenly staring at me?

"…Hello?"

"You haven't boarded yet?"

"Obviously, Loco, or I wouldn't have answered."

"No shit. Look, this is the _last_ favor I do for you…unless you feel like doing some sweet favors for me?"

"Give me the name."

"Your contact is Huan Lo. This guy runs an auto repair shop outside Shanghai in some place called Dafoonra…Darafoon? I don't know. He should be able to get what you need, for a price. Yo, Meg, you can't hold these guys up like you do me. They'll kill you."

"No shit. This repair shop got a name?"

"I don't remember. All those fucking Chinese names give me a headache. Are we done now?"

"Yeah," I sighed. "Thanks, Loco."

"Yeah. Peace."

My phone clicked shut. I stood nervously outside the rows of chairs and tables set up for waiting passengers, moving only when the flight's boarding process began. The seat designated on my ticket was near the back, and I pushed through what must have been hundreds of Chinese families. Business men in suits, tiny women in floral prints and strappy sandals, and a handful of well-behaved children; these were people with money.

Exhausted, I closed my eyes and hoped to God nobody would notice me. On a plane full of Asians, how noticeable could a tall, white American woman be?

* * *

My ears felt clogged with cotton as fast-paced Chinese blared over the plane's speakers. After a slight pause, the flight attendant took up a much slower and less comfortable English.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for flying China Eastern Airlines. We will be landing in a few minutes. Please gather your belongings and have your passport on hand. Thank you."

I felt, and looked, like shit. My brown eyes had turn bloodshot and puffy, my blonde hair was a greasy mess, and my mouth desperately missed the feeling of a toothbrush. 14 hours on a commercial flight is exhausting, and a 13 hour time difference makes it even better. All I could think about was hitting my hotel room and having a hot cup of coffee and then a shower. Or maybe a shower first… No, fuck it. I was ready to suck down a hot cup of coffee _in_ the hot shower.

It's understandable, then, that I didn't sense the guy tailing me as I stepped off the plane.

* * *

I took a cab to the Holiday Inn Express on Zhongxing Road, about seven miles from the dead center of the city. My cabby, an older man lacking a handful of teeth, called it 'Zhabei Shanghai'. Apparently Shanghai is made up of twenty different districts (Zhabei being one of them), kind of like how New York, New York has the four burgs.

Twenty different districts. Twenty different police forces. Twenty different gang families. Twenty million people. Kind of funny how it all comes together, isn't it?

It was a pretty drive that early in the morning. The sun was just rising, reflecting blood-red light off the glass and steel of a thousand different buildings. Men, mostly in business suits and nicer clothes, marched in tightly packed groups towards work. I could see a lot of signs written in Chinese, American, French, and a small handful of other languages.

"Tourist spot?" I tried to ask, but the words became lost in a yawn. The cabby smiled and nodded emphatically, as most mysterious Asian men do.

He helped me drag my bags to the bell hop, and I tipped him nicely. He handed me a handmade business card in return and became my first connection in China.

* * *

"Thank you, Miss…Coburn."

The concierge handed me my credit card back. It was my real card- I hadn't been able to arrange for a new one with a fake name. It's amazing how people avoid you after you murder a crime boss and all his local flunkies. Even with a handful of cold, hard cash, there were still people that turned my business away. People that had once been very good clients of Mr. Wei's, at least.

But having my name out in the open was what I needed, at least for now. In a cheap local hotel, they wouldn't have even bothered with my name. Nobody would know I was there. But here my name is on a server that any two-bit hacker can get into, and there are at least twenty different gangs in the area that keep an eye on foreigners moving through Shanghai. My name might set off a general alert, and then the whole of Shanghai will know I'm here. Including John.

And in any case, I wanted a clean bed to sleep in. It was a _damn_ nice hotel; nicer than the last few apartments I've lived in. The bathroom was partitioned off by thick, glass blocks and there was a large television opposite the two single beds. I had the miniature coffee maker brewing while I turned on the hot water in the shower. The steam started fogging up the bathroom almost instantly, and by the time I got out, my coffee was ready for consumption.

Since I didn't have to go anywhere until the next day, I took my time sleeping, watching television, and raiding the mini-bar. I'm not much of a drinker, but I figured a little liquid courage couldn't hurt considering that I had no guarantee of leaving China alive. You can't exactly fuck with mobsters and expect to live.

* * *

I was full of a delicious, complementary breakfast when I finally left the hotel. The fact that nobody had come to assassinate me in my sleep had kind of surprised me. But then again, I didn't know shit about the underworld of China. Maybe someone had already taken over Wei's place and didn't care about his unfinished business. My name might not have meant anything to these people.

My cab took me past the railway station and on to a city just outside Shanghai called Darunfa. Huan Lo's shop there was a reputable business; the guy did everything from fixing cabs and motorcycles to custom paint jobs on classic automobiles.

The building looked antique as we approached. Aging wood paneled the sides, but there was a bright neon sign just above the door. It was very vintage, like it had come straight from an American 1950s car repair. Whoever this Lo guy was, he had taste, and he liked American things. I stepped out of the cab as smoothly as possible. I was wearing a pair of black boots that zipped up the sides, a hunting knife tucked into my socks, a pair of tight black Levis, and a white t-shirt that showed off my assets. My hair was up in a messy bun and my lips were a bright red. My image screamed 'FOREIGN WHORE', which is _always_ good for business.

"You gotta' be Meg Coburn. I'll bet my garage on it."

A young Asian stepped out from behind a piece of shit Chevy Nova that was lacking paint and full of rust. He wiped the grease from his hands on a rag and tossed it to the ground before taking my hand in his and giving it a firm shake. Huan Lo was attractive- muscular, tanned, and tattooed. But he didn't look Chinese to me. Japanese or Vietnamese, maybe. There were a handful of guys scattered outside, working on scrap, and another handful on the inside working on much nicer cars. Lo led me to the very back of the decently sized garage where there was a small office.

"What can I do you for?" he asked, eyeing me appreciatively. I smirked and let him admire my general splendor for a moment. He was sure cute, but me, I don't do 'cute'.

"Guns and information."

"Let's start with the guns then. Am I backing an army? A handful of people?"

"…" I hesitated, not sure whether to tell the truth. Did he really need to know it was just me? I would find others, maybe, but there were no guarantees. My life just doesn't grant many of those.

"Oh? Alone?" he guessed. "How interesting. Are you an assassin?"

"Something like that. I'm not sure you need to know all the details." I kept my tone light, not wanting to lose my flirtatious edge. He smiled and I relaxed a bit.

"Of course, how rude of me. It's just that I'm curious to know what a sexy American woman is doing in China, and what she needs a gun for."

"Protection. There are bad men on the streets," I said sweetly.

"There are bad men in here, too."

"I'm going to need a few different options." I pretended not to have heard him. "Basic assassins tools, some handguns, and some automatics."

"Hm, options. Sounds like you don't know what kind of trouble you'll be getting into. I'll add a bit of everything into the mix, okay?"

"_Lovely_."

"That you are. So let's move on to the next matter of business. What kind of information are you looking for?"

"Have you heard of a man named John Lee?" Huan paused at that, thoughtful.

"I have one in the sideyard scrapping an '84 Ford pickup truck. But I'm guessing you mean one in particular." I wasn't sure whether to be glad or disappointed. He didn't know about John Lee, and aside from Loco, he didn't know much about me.

"Nevermind. I need maps of the city, information about who's who around here, and a list of men-for-hire."

"Sweet Jesus, you don't know nothing about nothing, do you? You came to China, ready to start a fight with some poor bastard, but you don't know what you're doing."

"It was a sudden flight," I stated through gritted teeth. He was right, and I wasn't happy about it.

"This isn't a planned hit. Revenge, maybe?"

"I'm hoping to avoid confrontation. These aren't my streets, and I don't want to pick a fight with a big dog. I just want to scurry around like a quiet rat, you know?"

He looked me over again, trying to figure me out. "Sounds like someone's in trouble then. You got documents, in case you need to make a quick getaway?"

"I'll take care of those. Why the concern?"

"I can't help it!" He laughed suddenly. "You look like a classy American dame, even if you are a little rough. Ain't a way in hell I can say no if a pretty little thing like you is in trouble."

"Bullshit. The more you offer, the more I accept, and the more profit you make. But it was a sweet lie, nonetheless."

"I don't get many girls in here. Some are here to pick up their boss's cars, some are here to pick up their boss's guns, and some even come here for a handgun so they can raise hell and take the whole neighborhood with them."

"I don't know about the raising hell part, but I'll take this entire country apart if I have to."

"All by yourself?"

I laughed, and it came out too harsh. "Yeah, all by my little lonesome."

"I knew I liked you for a reason. Alright, I'll get you the guns, the maps, the information, and a couple of phone numbers. The mercenaries around here aren't reliable or safe, but you'll find more of them here than you will in the City of Angels. And…uh…what was that guy's name again?"

"John Lee."

"Right, right. Can you give me a little more than that? It'll be hard to find out anything when I'm asking about the most generic name in China."

"He used to work for Mr. Wei." Huan Lo looked less than pleased, but he didn't say anything. One of his men called for a taxi as he escorted me outside, and he even helped me into the cab like he was some kind of gentleman.

"Come back tomorrow, I'll have what you need."

As we drove away, a black SUV pulled up to the garage and a handful of men in suits got out. Lo kept his eyes on me, ignoring them, and I turned and watched as he became just a speck in the distance.

* * *

I didn't like that he'd asked me back the next day. Usually business men like Lo took their time with dealings, despite that most of their guns were stockpiled nearby. It was just the professional thing to do- a way for men to exercise a little power over their customers. Besides, it'd take hours for us to agree on a price, and he'd probably hold back some of his wares just so I'd have to come back and do more business later. Coming back tomorrow meant that he wanted the business finished quickly. He _really _hadn't liked Wei's name being brought up (not that I blamed him) and that made me uneasy.

I came in through the back entrance of the Holiday Inn Express, where the employee entrance was as well. I slipped my knife out of my boot and stuffed it in the pocket of my jeans as I made my way to my hotel room. The door, to my surprise, didn't look like anyone had forced the looks open. I took a cautious step inside, knife in hand.

My room was completely undisturbed. Nothing had been moved or rifled through, and I had been absolutely thorough about memorizing the room before I'd left. The hair I'd stuck over the door of the closet was intact.

That scared me most of all. John's last communication had been one of distress, but it didn't look like anyone was putting his face on any 'WANTED' ads. I'd come as publicly as I could, using my real name in an American hotel, and nobody had done so much as follow me down the street. There was silence where I expected gunshots and threats.

I was hard to fall asleep that night, since all I could think about was the fact that John was…well, more than likely…

_Already dead._

* * *

**Author's Note: **

Hope you're liking this so far! I don't have a Beta for this, so it might be a little messy. I'm _so_ not an experienced author. Not yet. Anyways, I figure I'll only do eight chapters for this story. I have a short, beautiful plot planned and I really don't want _any_ unnecessary chapters. Those are so boring!


	3. The Trophy Kill

**Author's Note: **Thanks so much to all my amazing reviewers. I love that you love this story! I have five more chapters planned- short and sweet. BTW, I highly recommend picking up the Replacement Killers Extended Cut on Blu-Ray.

* * *

In general, criminals and junkies don't get up before noon on weekdays. On weekends, they sleep 'til the time when most people get home from work and then crawl out from under their rocks to do dirty deeds. But I still woke up early for no God damned reason in particular the next morning after my meeting with Lo. Maybe it was all the bad dreams I'd been having that kept me from sleeping right. I drank the last complementary packet of coffee and had to call room service for another handful of them.

I took a shower, blow dried my hair, did my makeup, my nails, tried on two different outfits and took them both off by the time the hotel sent an employee up to deliver my Joe. I was pacing the floor like a lunatic in my underwear when he knocked on the door. Wearing tasteful boyshorts, a full coverage bra, and with my hunting knife half-hidden behind my back, I answered.

He must have thought I was a psycho hooker or something. The little Chinese guy blinked a few times and tried to keep his eyes glued to my eyebrows, in case they decided to wander lower or something. Most guys would be thrilled for a free show like that, but he just looked plain scared. I felt a little insulted. Wordlessly he handed me my coffee packets, and I tipped him a couple of bucks. He took the money carefully between his fingers, like it could be infected with an STD or something, and tucked it into his pocket with a bow. I shut the door in his face and went back to raging around the room like a PMS-ing bitch.

* * *

I pulled a less-intense version of my slut look again. I already had Lo's cooperation, and I didn't really want any more of his attention. I traded my tight, black pants for a ripped up and paint-stained pair- casual and much easier to run in. I put on a blue button-down kept together with safety pins that showed just a peak of my skivvies, and of course, the boots.

The cabbie that had driven me the day before was back again, and he smiled and nodded at me as I crawled in and told him where to go. Do Chinese men do anything else? My feet tapped on the floor in steady rhythm and my freshly-painted nails dug into the skin of my thighs as we drove past the tall buildings and heavily populated streets of Shanghai. I don't know why, but I looked out the window and searched for his face in the crowds.

* * *

Lo was waiting for me outside his garage like he had nothing better to do. Another bad sign. But I had no other choices here besides turning tail and heading back home, which wasn't a choice. I would find John or die trying, and the latter part was far more likely than the first. So I slipped out of my cab with attitude and marched up to him with a smug grin on my face. He smiled back, impressed.

"I was hoping you'd come back," Huan laughed, his arms cross over his muscular chest. I felt confused for a minute.

"You thought I'd walk out on the deal?"

"No, no, don't take it the wrong way. I just meant I wasn't sure you'd make it here. Lots of guys out there are looking for pretty girls like you."

Maybe looking for a pretty girl _exactly_ like me. I wasn't sure if he was tipping me off that he knew people were looking for me or if he was just being flirtatious.

"I can take care of myself," I stated matter-of-factly. Lo nodded and beckoned me inside the shop. A handful of guys were welding some monster machine together and another two were looking very frustrated over a blueprint table. We headed straight for the office again and shut the door. He opened a locked drawer in his desk and pulled out the smaller items I'd requested; a handful of maps of Canton, some pictures, a list of phone numbers, and a cellular phone.

"I keep the guns in the back storage room," he explained when I looked at him expectantly. "Bullets don't come within fifty feet of my cars…or my customers."

"Ooh, a man with morals. How charming."

"Sarcasm is very sexy on you, Miss Coburn."

"Show me my guns," I said sweetly. He chuckled and ushered me through another door in the corner of the office. Down a couple of hallways we came to a cage filled with assault, automatic, and semi-automatics. They looked cheap and were covered with dust and grease marks. Lo was reaching for the lock on the gate when the door to the office burst open. He looked wearily down the hallway, then glanced at me. Patent leather shoes slapped against the concrete floor in hurried steps towards us, but it was hard to see without proper light. I placed my back against the wall and fingered my knife, unsure and pissed off.

"The fuck is going on, Huan?"

"I told these guys to piss off, Meg, but it looks like they aren't listening. Sorry."

Since I knew Lo didn't have a gun on his person, I lunged for the locked gate and tried to pry the damn thing off. He didn't stop me, but he didn't help me either. My business partner just stood back as five men in suits and sunglasses tried to grab me. I swung outwards with my knife like I knew how to handle it or something and aimed for one of their throats. Another one caught my wrist and pinned it against the wall, and another came to grab my other arm. I kicked out with my foot and caught him in the chest. He wheezed and doubled over- my boots had heels that seriously hurt. The last two simply stepped to my other side, outside of my kicking range, and threw their body weight on my arm and side. It crushed the wind out of me.

"That's enough," Lo said. His voice was low and dangerous. "I won't have violence here." One of the men, wearing a brown jacket and brown-checkered tie, responded to him in Chinese. He looked arrogant as he jutted his jaw out in defiance. But Lo responded again in English for my benefit.

"Don't be stupid. You've got a little power, but this is neutral ground you're treading on. I only need a small excuse to take you boys out behind the garage and shoot you like dogs. The other gangs wouldn't even blink." It must have been true, because the other guys released their iron grip on my a little and the brown suit looked a little deflated.

"Did you rat me out?" I hissed. My blood was boiling, my adrenaline was starting to kick in, and I felt like killing somebody.

"These men have been following you since you arrived, Meg. Politically, my hands are tied here. No other gangs run this place, but I can't interfere with their work. Looks like our business will have to wait a little longer."

"We need info-mation," brown suit said. "You might end up alive if you coop-o-rate."

"What kind of info?" I asked wearily.

"Where is John Lee?"

I paused for a moment, gathering up the saliva in my mouth, and then I spat in his face. He backhanded me automatically and his buddies pressed my so hard against the wall that spots started to cover my vision.

"Meg, come on. You can't tear apart China and raise hell if you're dead. Just give them the information they need." Lo tried to persuade me. I told him to go fuck himself, and he just shrugged like he expected that answer.

"You know, don't you?" Brown suit smiled dangerously at me. "You know where he is. Why else would you come into China?"

"I don't know exactly where he is. John hasn't spoken to me since he left the U.S.." I sighed. It was true, at least.

"Bool-shit. John has tried to contact you or else you woo-dn't be here. But you _will_ tell us everything we need to know about him. His location, his strengths, his weaknesses. These things you will tell us whether you want to or not."

"You don't have jurisdiction to take her from here," Lo warned him. He looked a little disgusted, like he knew what kinds of things these suits had in store for me.

"Oh, yes we do. If she does not coo-perate and give us the information we need, we take her with us. Only if she do not give us what we need."

The two of them looked at me expectantly. I smiled. "Yeah, alright. Here's everything you need to know about John. He's armed, dangerous, likes long walks on the beach and hates cheap wine. His shoelaces might trip him up once in a while, but I don't know if you could count that as a weakness_._ You want to know where he is? Me too. But I guarantee you've found him if you end up catching a bullet with your brain anytime soon."

"Nice, Meg." Lo sighed.

"Now she comes with us."

* * *

I struggled vainly as they dragged me to the black SUV parked outside the garage. I knew I wouldn't break their hold, and I knew I was probably just pissing them off more, but I am nothing if not defiant. Lo followed behind us and watched as I was stuffed into the backseat.

"I'll hold onto your stuff a while longer, just in case." He said with a weak smile. My hands were tied, so I couldn't give him the finger, but my face said it all. One of the suits shut the door and squeezed in beside me. Talk about an awkward drive…

* * *

We drove past the districts of restaurants and casual markets into the sea of tall buildings and businesses in the heart of Shanghai. These guys weren't just a crummy street gang- they pretended, at least, to have style. They parked the car in a packed garage and walked me to one of the smaller glass buildings nearby. I struggled against my ropes and ended up tearing the skin of my wrists. Blood dripped down behind me like a tiny trail.

When we walked outside, where crowds of people stood, I let my legs become jelly. I refused to stand up. One of the suits kicked me in the back, and when I didn't respond to that he picked me up like a sack of potatoes and threw me over my shoulder. In a crowd of a thousand busy people, nobody looked. China was surprisingly like L.A.. I opened my mouth to scream and found it immediately covered by a sweaty hand. _Gross_. I bit down on it as hard as I could, but my suit didn't flinch.

It's hard to see when you're being carried over someone's shoulder, but I knew we were passing through rows and rows of sewing machines inside. It didn't seem like a filthy sweat shop- it looked like pretty reputable. Out of the corner of my eye I could see piles of jeans and knit shirts with the name 'Levi' on them. Apparently these guys did pretty well for themselves.

My destination was a windowless room at the very back of the building where no other human beings were nearby. I was put in the only chair in the room and tied down. My foot managed to catch someone in the thigh, and he decked me hard. For a moment my brain wasn't sure of where I was or how to form a sentence.

"Alright, Meg. John sent you a message of some kind. What did it say?" A navy suit said.

"I didn't get a fucking message, okay? Do you _understand _that? No message, no nothing." He put his foot up on the arm of my chair and put a hand on my throat, but didn't squeeze.

"Then why the hell you here?"

"I felt like having a vacation." He squeezed hard then, his fingers digging too deep into my skin. I actually gagged and jerked around in my seat. The navy suit didn't look like he was enjoying my discomfort, but he wasn't letting go.

"We'll go through this again. You flew into Shanghai and came to Lo for supplies and information. Did John tell you where to go?"

I shook my head very slightly and he released his death grip. "I had connections in L.A. telling me where to go," I choked out. The blood on the back of my hands, I'd noticed, was forming a nice puddle underneath my chair. I felt a little sick.

"That's good, that's a step in the right direction. Is John here in Shanghai?"

"The hell if I know. Why are you guys so interested in him?" The navy suit stepped back and leaned against the wall to consider me.

"John is important for our takeover of Wei's old territory here. Well, a part of his territory at least. There are many gangs, individual business men, and families looking to have a piece of it, and so many small battles are being waged here over it."

"So Wei had as big a crime syndicate over here as he did in the U.S.?"

"Bigger. He started in China, got bored, and left to make profits in the land of opportunity. His territory here is…_was_…large and greatly respected. And we want to claim it."

"What's John got anything to do with that?"

He sighed and started to play with his sunglasses. "John Lee is being known as the man who brought down Wei, and that's quite the reputation. Many other families and gangs fear his name because of the power it has now. Killing John would give us the edge we need to take over."

"I still don't understand."

"You must understand, there are many gangs here in China who have little power and almost no respect. And then there are families who have ruled here for many generations who have incredible amounts of power and respect. They pretend to be God or something. In order for us to take over the pieces of Wei's empire we want, we need legitimacy. John Lee's death by our hands gives us the kind of respect we wouldn't have otherwise. We would not be challenged."

"Like a trophy kill. You put John's head on your wall and suddenly you're the big white hunter and get to take your pick."

"Yes. Now, back to John's location."

"Don't know."

"And if you did know, would you tell us?"

"Not for all the tea in this piece of shit country."

"Alright then, I'll settle for details. What kind of gun does John carry?"

I didn't speak. His patent leather shoe kicked me in the shoulder, and I bit down on my lip to keep from crying out. He asked again, and I still remained silent. Navy suit left the room for a minute and returned with my knife. I struggled harder against my ropes and only ended up cutting myself deeper.

"You will answer, eventually." He said confidently. And then he pressed the knife to the tender skin of my inner thigh. You could hear my screams down the hallway as he ripped it away and took away a piece of my own flesh.

* * *

**  
Author's Note:** I know it's short, sorry! Hopefully you're all still enjoying it. The next chapter, **Oops**, will be out within a month or so (I hope).


	4. Oops

**Author's Note:** Thanks to **Donna8 **for making me kick it into high gear! I'd had about 3/4 of this written, but had been too lazy to finish it. Anyways, only a couple chapters left. Enjoy!

* * *

Things started to get blurry after a while.

If you've never been through torture, it's hard to explain. I remember this tight, horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach as I anticipated every cut, every slap across my face, and every kick from shiny black business shoes. Every single muscle in my body tensed and strained until I started shaking. And once the shaking started, I couldn't stop it.

The tight feeling in my stomach turned to nausea pretty quickly. Once all my strength and rage started to drain out, all I wanted to do was throw up and go to bed. My need to make the pain _stop_ overtook my desire to kill every single Chinese fuck in that room. I'd stopped yelling insults and started screaming after the third or fourth slice into the tender area of my thigh. But once they'd decided to cut designs into my forearm I stopped screaming because I just didn't have the energy. It was too much to even call out for help. I just remember shaking, shaking so hard, and wanting to throw up, and trying to keep consciousness.

I don't know how long it was… ten minutes? A few hours? A day or two? Hard to tell in a room with no windows and a team solely dedicated to causing me pain. I tried to keep my mind busy, especially went I started weaving in and out of consciousness. They asked questions- lots of questions. But in my ears all I heard was the sound of their voices, not the words. It wasn't until much later that I remembered, and it saved my life.

At some point it all stopped. My body was still shaking and hurting, so I didn't even know it until the room became completely silent. My head lolled against the back of the stiff chair as my brain started flickering on and off like the bad lighting in my old apartment. For a second there was darkness, and then I felt my arms suddenly dangle freely by my sides and the tight, biting rope around my chest slacked to the floor. There was so much liquid on the floor- blood, saliva, sweat, urine, and God knows what else- that it almost made a splash. I fell asleep again for a minute as I marveled at the feeling of breathing easy again.

My whole body was moving when I woke up again. Something was lifting me off the chair like a rag doll, and I let it. Even if I had had the strength to fight, my brain didn't really register what was going on. There was a strong, solid object beneath my back and my knees and my head finally came to rest against a warm wall. I could hear a nervous heartbeat and smell cologne- cedar, sandalwood, sage, and a hint of musk. Warm and expensive, mixed with his sweat and natural scent.

The movement reopened the cuts on my thighs that had congealed and stuck to the fabric of my jeans (or what was left of them). I let out some kind of noise of discomfort and pressed my face against the warm wall of his chest, breathing in the cologne like it was air and just concentrated on that, not the pain or the confusion or my own weariness. The last thing I remember was his foot kicking down the door and a scream from down the hallway.

* * *

I woke up with the strong desire to throw up. I sat up quickly and felt something cold fall from my forehead and hit my arm. Disoriented, in pain, and completely taken by surprise, I managed to fling myself away and fell to the floor. There was a noise behind me, but I just managed to blink sleepily at the futon I'd fallen from.

He didn't say anything as he helped me back into bed. And I, the unshakable Meg Coburn, cried as I crawled slowly back beneath the covers. A sturdy hand lifted my legs up by the cuffs of my pajama pants (where had those come from?) and tucked them in, careful not to touch them. Salty tears slipped from the corners of my eyes as I tried not to _breathe_ because it hurt so badly. The cold pack that had been on my forehead was suddenly there again and it felt wonderful. I smelled warm, expensive cologne again before I drifted away into a world of black.

"Meg, please. I need you to eat this."

"Mrrphmm," I replied. Somehow I was sitting up now, propped against a couple of real down pillows. I went to wipe the crusty sleep from my eyes and found there was an IV attached to my arm, jerry-rigged to top of the bed post. My pain was less… More so now that I could see the man sitting on the edge of my bed.

"John?"

My voice was soft and a bit horse as some great emotion swelled in my stomach. He had a bowl of steaming soup and a pair of chopsticks in his hands like he had been there for a while, just waiting for me to wake up. There were more lines around his face and his casual clothes looked wrinkled, and there was a deep sadness in his eyes I hadn't ever seen before. But _God damn it_, it was _him_. And he was alive and unharmed- more than I had even hoped for.

I leaned forward to touch him, just to be sure he was really there, but he pressed me back into the pillows and offered the bowl to me again. I quirked an eyebrow and suddenly felt lost. Hadn't he reached out for me to come save him? Hadn't I suffered enough nightmares and heartaches to at least earn a "hello"?

John's dark eyes met mine for only a second before he turned away, like it hurt to look at me. I felt my stomach turn.

"Eat," he commanded, then stood and left the room as quietly as the ghost he was.

* * *

The room was tiny and hardly furnished, but I noticed it was furnished with style. The futon was soft and adjusted to my form. The sheets had a high thread count and a pretty design that had obviously come from some overpriced designer in America. On the battered dresser was a sleek laptop that had fallen into sleep mode, and I was guessing it was John's. Even the bowl and chopsticks in my hand were an exquisite porcelain design, but I was only interested in the exquisite soup inside. The need to feed overwhelmed me and I slurped up every single soba noodle like I would never eat again. But once I'd shaken the last drop of broth into my mouth, all I could think of was the way John had looked at me.

Or, actually, the way he hadn't.

And suddenly it really pissed me off. After all I'd been through just to find him, he acts like he doesn't want me around. _Nobody_ toys with me like that, ever. So I ripped the IV out of my arm and struggled out of bed towards the door. My legs wanted nothing more than to give out and my thighs hated me for putting pressure on their half-healed wounds, but my vengeance comes before my personal health and comfort. Hell hath no fury, right?

"_JOHN!_" I busted the bedroom door open like I meant business. He was standing across the hallway from me in what I figured was the kitchen with a bowl of soup in hand, completely startled. I hobbled towards him like I was going to kick his ass. I felt hurt, perhaps more than I should have, and I didn't want to think on the reason why.

"What the-"

I stopped myself there and looked down at my pajama pants because I felt this really odd, warm sensation suddenly start spreading across my legs. The beige linen turned crimson red, and I felt all my anger and energy rush right out of me. I could feel John's arm snake around my waist and he led me back to the bed. As distant as he'd felt, there was a tenderness in the way his hand touched my side. He lowered me onto the bed and then just stood there, staring at the blood soaking through to the sheets.

"You shouldn't have come here," he said, his tone embittered. I stared at him in disbelief as he started pulling gauze and a suture kit out of one of the dresser drawers.

"I got your message… So, _excuse_ me if I actually cared enough to come here and save your sorry ass. I guess I'm not wanted." My spite matched his bitterness perfectly. I suppose I'd been expecting him to be happy to see me, to march right up to me and hug me and tell me he'd been waiting for me. In a non-romantic way, of course, because there was no way I could be in-

"My message? Meg, I sent a telegram to the temple to let you know that I was okay. I said if you needed help, I'd be there soon. I told you to be careful. I didn't tell you to fly to China and get kidnapped and tortured…"

He sat down beside me and gripped my arm with unforgiving fingers. Those dark eyes of his burned with hurt, so much that it took all the angry words right out of my mouth and set loose furious butterflies in my stomach. John's other hand reached up and touched my face with a whisper-light touch, and I realized with a sharp wince of pain that he was touching some horrible bruise on my cheek. Yeah, I probably looked like hell.

"But you came," he continued. "You came to help me, and you got hurt. If I hadn't arrived in time you would have died. Do you understand that, Meg?" He retracted his hand and started concentrating on sterilizing the needles from the kit, and I could tell he was biting his tongue. Like there was more he wanted to say, but held back.

"I thought you were in big trouble. Like, find-you-in-a-body-bag trouble. And I don't want _you_ to die, remember? You're in some seriously deep shit, John. Do _you_ understand that?"

"You would have died."

He acted like he hadn't heard me at all. I crossed my arms over my stomach and pouted slightly. This conversation was starting to sound like he was scolding a little kid for doing something dangerous and wrong. I felt a tug as his strong hands ripped the legs of my pajama pants, exposing the wounds up to my thighs.

"This," John nodded at my leg and looked over my body, "would never have happened if it wasn't for me. I'm…I'm so sorry. This is all my fault."

I put my best smug look on and smiled for him. That was the John Lee I knew- a professional killer with a heart of gold. I could see him beating himself up about it, haunted by the thought of "what if" he hadn't come in time.

"Hey, are you kidding? This ain't nothin'. I've gotten in worse fights over milk money in middle school."

He smiled (a rare expression) and wiped away the blood from my legs with a clean towel. I gritted my teeth and tried not to look down at the raw, red flesh, already feeling nauseous. But John had a delicate touch as he sterilized the area and pushed the threaded needle through my skin. I hardly felt its sting as he stitched meticulously, keeping it close and tight. A few of the smaller cuts he put steri-strips on when he was done.

"It shouldn't scar too badly," he said, his tone apologetic. One of his warm, calloused hands settled loosely over mine and eclipsed my pale, clammy fingers. There were cold chills running through my body and black spots danced across my vision.

"There are worse things than scars." I let my pinky finger curl up and wrap around one of his fingers, as if one tiny finger could hold him to me. John looked at me, but I didn't glance up to see his reaction. There are moments where even _I_ feel spineless, okay? And maybe it was my imagination, but out of the corner of my eye I could have sworn he was leaning closer to me and closing the distance between us.

A ramble of Chinese words rang out from down the hall, making me jump. John responded and reluctantly pulled his hand away from mine. I felt stupid as he did it, like maybe I'd done something wrong. I didn't have much time to ponder it, though, because a young woman peeked her head in the doorway.

She was a young twenty-something with a petite figure. Her brown hair hung loose around her shoulders, and she wore a plain flower print dress. The girl spoke softly, her eyes darting between me and John. The two of them carried on a brief conversation in which my name was mentioned more than once. I was starting to feel a little irked when John finally turned back to me.

"This is Lian, my sister," he explained. She bowed, but didn't step any closer into the room.

"You found them? Your family?" I asked, though my eyes were starting to flutter shut of their own accord. My body was aching and shook sporadically, and I needed sleep.

"My mother did not live through the winter. Pneumonia."

I opened my mouth to apologize, feeling insensitive. But despite the sadness touching his eyes, John shook his head and waved away my concern. Lian Lee added something in Chinese. His brow furrowed, and the two started an argument that was hell on my ears. So I settled my head back into my pillow and was reaching for sleep when I heard my name mentioned again.

"What?" I asked drowsily. Lian stormed off around the corner, obviously upset. My knight in shining armor held his head in his hands and massaged his temples.

"My sister…does not want to leave Shanghai. After I brought her here from Canton, she found herself a boyfriend." He spoke the word like it left a bad taste in his mouth. "Now she wants to stay here with him, even though it's dangerous."

"I thought you both were coming back to America." I felt helpless as he talked. If his sister decided to stay, would he stay to protect her? "You have to come back. It's too dangerous for you here."

"I know. Wei's goons are still looking for me, though there aren't many left."

"Christ, John, there's more than just a dead man's thugs looking for you."

He looked serious at that, though he always looks serious. "Those men that took you, they were goons from the Chou gang. I haven't figured out why yet."

"They want your head on a silver platter so they can take Wei's territory without being challenged."

"But that makes no sense. One of the older families in the area would have swallowed it up by now, or at least one of the larger gangs. Chou runs factories for brand name American and English companies, he has no business trying to take that kind of territory."

"There were other names mentioned," I started carefully. It was hard to pull up exactly what had happened when I was being tortured, but I was sure there was more to it. "Sun, maybe. Tseng, Wu. They asked if I'd been in contact with any of them."

"More insignificant criminals. Li Tseng is a ruthless business men who does minor smuggling. The Tsengs run an extortion operation along a couple docks, and I'm pretty sure the Wus are just a muscle gang terrorizing the streets. I don't understand," he sighed in frustration. "They don't belong in the fight for Wei's territory."

I was hardly listening, my mind panicking at the thought of knives and ropes. The muscles in my thigh twitched nervously and my arms ached. John had the rest of me bandaged up under the pajamas I was wearing, so I hadn't gotten to see the number they'd done on the rest of me. But I knew enough. Once you start anticipating the pain, your mind loses focus and concentrates on every tiny feeling. I remember how the knife had danced in circles, slicing skin from my arm like it was peeling an apple. The suits were taking turns perfecting circles and swirls, and I remembered as the knife had turned over and over again that they had said something odd, something that hadn't made any sense and for some reason, it was coming back to me…

"The dragon. The-they said they were going to deliver you to the white dragon."

I'd never seen fear in John's face until that very moment. His cool, unshakable demeanor changed for a split second and for that second I saw a normal, human man. A man who could feel love, fear, and who didn't have the answer to every solution. It frightened me.

"I need to get you and Lian out of the city tonight. Can you move?"

"I flew all the way from L.A. and got the shit kicked out of me just to find you. Like I'm really going to leave you."

"This changes everything. The White Dragon is an extraordinarily old and powerful ban pai. They control Yangpu Shanghai, the largest district. For them to play with the smaller gangs… Something is very wrong, Meg."

Something like the Bloods and Crips playing with a bunch of drug dealing high school kids, I thought. Something like the largest gang on the West coast coming after us. My ass started moving like the bed was on fire. John got up and started shuffling through the dresser drawers until he found a pair of men's pants and a men's flannel shirt. He tossed them to me and I started stripping off my blood-crusted pajamas in a hurry. John yelled to Lian, who stormed into the room to yell back at him. But at the sight of mostly naked me, she turned on point and left. I was shimmying into the baggy jeans, thankful that the loose fabric barely grazed my fresh sutures.

"Belt," I said, and after a moment he threw me a black leather belt with 'Versace' imprinted on the buckle. The man had taste. John loaded magazines into a couple glocks and I buttoned up my shirt with fumbling fingers. I felt cold and chilled, like I was catching a fever. With all my cuts and bruises, an infection wasn't unlikely.

"I need to get you and Lian to the airport," he explained. "I can cover you all the way to airport security, and you should be safe once you pass through there."

"You're not coming with?"

"I wouldn't make it two steps inside."

"John," I started, but my words faltered as one of the doors in the apartment slammed shut. He cursed in Chinese and bolted out the room, giving me a moment to sit down and compose myself. After a few minutes, I curled up on the bed and soon was asleep.

* * *

It was very dark by the time I stirred. The sounds of night drifted up to the small window above the bed- thumping bases, angry shouting, police sirens. I heard creaking on the wood floor and felt the bed dip as someone sat by my side. Shoes fell to the floor like they'd been kicked off and then a warm body was suddenly pressing against my back. Though my skin felt like it was on fire, I shivered beneath my blankets, and an arm snaked around me and pulled me closer.

"Lian took off," John muttered. He sounded completely exhausted. I made some unintelligent noise, only able to care about the new source of heat keeping me warm. "She's hiding away with that boyfriend of hers."

"We'll find her," I said sleepily. I'm ashamed to say that I wasn't all that worried about his sister. She took off with the man she loved, even though she knew the dangers, and that was her choice. But having John send me away, well, that concerned me more.

"_I'll_ find her. I want you safe, not sick and dodging bullets."

"You can't stop me."

"Go to sleep," he said forcefully, too tired to deal with my attitude. And then I felt a soft pressure against the back of my head, like lips brushing against my hair…

But I was so tired, I must have imagined it.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hope you're enjoying this so far. Honestly, I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, and I imagine I'll put a new chapter out in a couple of months. Thanks to all my wonderful readers and reviewers!


	5. Good Deed

**A/N: **Surprisingly, it hasn't been that long since I updated. Only a few months. Which is better than my usual record of waiting a year to give in and write a new chapter. Like any author, I loathe my work because I think it sucks, but I can't stop writing. Anyways, hope you enjoy. I'm only planning one more chapter after this, _maybe_ two.

* * *

It's not such a nice feeling, waking up in bed alone. I tensed as consciousness stirred in me, painfully aware that the warm, familiar body that had been with me all night was no longer there. His pillow still smelled faintly of his expensive cologne, so I reached over and grabbed it before hugging it to my chest.

The smell of rice and eggs and the sounds of oil sizzling in a pan rousted me again. From just outside the door I could here his shoes clicking against the ground as he made breakfast for us both. Really? A man who snuggles, makes breakfast, and doesn't cop a feel? John was making it dangerously hard _not_ to fall in love. Though I was beginning to think maybe I'd already…

"Meg?" he asked softly, knocking on the door. "Are you awake?"

I made a muffled noise into my pillow, which he took as a signal to come inside. There was a bowl of delicious Chinese goodness in one hand and a pair of chopsticks in the other, and nothing but a smile on his smooth face. Didn't take much more convincing to make me sit up and start chowing down. John sat at the edge of the bed and lifted the covers from my legs, checking for excess bleeding.

"I feel just fine," I managed between bites. Which was a total lie, but I knew he had enough on his mind. Gang wars, a disappearing sister, a recently deceased mother, and God knows what else- he didn't need to worry about me anymore. "The sutures are holding, and they don't feel that sore."

He could see my bare arms, which weren't too bad, but my thighs were still clothed with a pair of baggy men's pants. I could see him trying to figure if he should believe me, and one of his weathered hands started to reach for the button of my pants. I didn't even have to look to know they were starting to get infected. Sore and inflamed, those stupid wounds were starting to affect the rest of me. My head burned with the beginnings of a serious fever…but he didn't need to know that.

"Hey! We'd better go see Lo today." I set the bowl aside and hopped up from bed to get myself dressed. John looked wearily at me with those dark, mysterious eyes of his, but didn't argue. I bit my lip hard so I wouldn't cry out- between my head throbbing and my sore legs, I had plenty of reasons not to move around too much.

John and I dressed quickly, though I kicked him out of the room so I could dress alone. I honestly didn't care if he saw me naked (he'd gotten plenty of eyefuls already), but I couldn't risk him seeing my thighs. I borrowed his clothes again since they suited me better than one of his sister's flower printed sundresses. Once I was done, we hit the road and called ourselves a cab.

* * *

John had barely put a toe out of the taxi before Lo came outside to greet us. His Americanized garage shop looked just as busy and full of workers as it had the other day; he certainly wasn't hurting for money between his two jobs. There was this look of relief on his face as he saw me that seemed genuine enough.

"Good," he sighed. "I was worried about you. Did you kill them all?"

"No, he did," I nodded towards John, who gave a tiny bow of hello to Lo. The smooth-talking arms dealer reciprocated, then looked back at me. My hair was up in a messy bun, and it truly needed to be washed. I wore one of John's red oxford shirts and tied the excess material together in a knot at my stomach, and the Versace belt cinched a pair of black trousers around my hips to keep them from falling off.

"Well, I'm glad. Those little bastards think they're tough because they've got some cash and a little taste. 'Bout time someone taught them a lesson."

"We need to talk." I spoke through gritted teeth, trying not to gasp too sharply with a sudden ache of pain. John looked alarmed, but I waved his concern away and put an arm around Lo's muscular shoulders. "In private."

I breathed a little easier once I sat down and propped my legs up on his desk. John stood patiently by the door like a statue, one hand very close to the handgun in his jacket. Lo didn't seem to care about his presence much at all.

"I kept the things you ordered, just in case you came back. I had some faith in that feisty American attitude of yours." Lo smiled and pulled out a duffle bag from behind his desk. I could practically feel John's eyes burning a hole in the back of my head as my proprietor unzipped it and let me peek at the goodies inside. Maps, printed pages, rifles, handguns, and a small assortment of other things.

"I need to know what's going on with all this Terrance Wei business. Who all is looking to take over his territory?"

Huan Lo paused and glanced a John, carefully mulling something over before answering. "Is this the John Lee you were looking for? Because I'm starting to hear his name a lot more."

"That gang that took me, they wanted his head. Said it would make their claim on a piece of Wei's dirty business legit. But they also mentioned something else, something called the 'White Dragon'."

"It's dirty business indeed," Lo agreed, rubbing a lightly greased hand against his temple. "This is strictly private information. I can only tell you because you're not gang-affiliated, and this is neutral territory. Lots of politics involved here."

"Your secret is safe with us," I assured him, flicking a piece of dust off the arm of my chair. "Now spill."

"There are very old gangs in China, Meg. Gang families like royalty who run the biggest and baddest spots in this country. When Wei died, without a son to take over his business, the gangs like White Dragon announced that they'd split it up and let the most worthy gangs take over those pieces. Wei had a large enterprise, but it seemed the families were not interested in expanding to other districts beyond their own. Lately, the smallest gangs have been picking themselves off like wild dogs, and the slightly more respectable gangs have been a little more discreet. But it's put a lot of gangs against each other."

"That's it? But I thought the bigger fish didn't bother with the smaller fish. Why care so much about splitting up territory they aren't even interested in?"

"Smart girl. I'm beginning to see the hand of the oldest gang families move, using the smaller and insignificant crime syndicates and petty street gangs like pawns. Some gangs are licking their wounds right now over these fights, some have put all their resources forward to fight off other competitors, not looking anywhere else."

"They're waiting." I started with sudden realization. "Until they're distracted and unable to fight, or totally wiped out and absorbed by other gangs. White Dragon is making a play to swallow up mass amounts of other gang territory without hardly lifting a finger."

"There are other gangs," Lo conceded. "Black Fist. Hidden Dagger. But you're right- it's a large scale play to solely put China's crime in the hands of only a handful of crime syndicates. It's big news."

"But are they interested in John? Black Fist and…and whatever the others were."

"Not that I've heard. Can't see why they would be. They never had affiliations with Wei- not interested in avenging his death or any such nonsense. And as good as John may be in the world of professional killing, these families have generations of servants who do exactly what he does. I'd say your almost out of the shadow of Wei's death."

"I never told you John killed Wei."

"I did a little research after you left, came up with a few things. But enough chatting. It's best if you left soon. If someone else comes looking for you- and believe me, people are looking for both of you- then I can't protect you. Try leaving the country as soon as possible."

I hobbled out of my seat and over to Huan's side, placing a little kiss on his cheek. "Thanks Lo, you've been real good. I didn't think Loco would set me up with a decent contact, but I guess I was wrong."

"You know that bitch?" Lo looked at me like I was crazy, and it brought a smile to my lips.

* * *

The drive back to John's house was very quiet. I leaned back in my seat and tried hard not to fall asleep. I felt tired, uncomfortable, and slightly delirious. The fever was starting to take over and at some point I needed to take care of it. But when your life is on the line, it's hard to find time to do silly things like take care of yourself. Dodging bullets and avoiding capture kind of takes priority.

I hardly even noticed when the taxi stopped. John opened my door and helped me out, slipping an arm around my waist to support some of my weight. I would have argued normally…but it was nice. So I let him help me up the stairs to his small apartment and all the way into bed. My clothes stayed on this time as he pulled the sheets over me and smoothed a strand of gross, unwashed hair from my forehead.

"I'll be back in a few minutes, don't go anywhere."

I slipped into feverish dreams almost immediately after he left. I'd been doing so well all day, through breakfast and the trip to Lo's garage, but it seemed I was finally letting my body rest and it was taking full advantage of the situation. John came back after some time and made me sit up to take a few pills.

"Feeding me old Chinese herbs and shit?" I muttered, glad he wasn't reprimanding me for not telling him how ill I felt.

"Not quite. But it'll make you feel better, and I guarantee you won't be getting up out of bed for a while. Just relax and sleep for a bit, and I'll figure out what to do about Lian."

* * *

Hard to recall what happened after that. I don't even remember falling asleep, I was so heavily drugged. John hadn't been kidding when he said I was not getting out of bed. I felt more relaxed and comfortably sleepy than I had in ages, even as I opened my eyes to see bullets breaking through the thin wall above my head and smashing into furniture. The sound seemed so distant, so muffled that I was half tempted to close my eyes and go back to sleep.

It didn't seem real to me. Especially since we were almost four floors off the ground, and the shooter was somehow outside, so all I could picture in my mind were men with wings and levitating abilities holding weapons. I was heavily drugged, okay?

John cursed somewhere out in the hallway and _that_ brought me to attention. With serious mental effort I managed to swing my numbed legs off the bed and more or less crumpled on the cool wood floor. It was better that way anyways, since standing up and walking would have certainly landed a bullet in my cranium. I crawled towards the kitchen and saw him huddled in the corner of the living room, firing his handguns through a broken window pain. The view wasn't ideal- a handful of identically dressed thugs with heavy artillery were ranged out on the fire escape of the building across the alleyway. I started to crawl John's way, but he caught sight of me and waved me away.

"Meg! Get out! I can't hold them off much longer."

"Just shoot them." I spoke as if it were a simple solution, and one he hadn't thought of yet. The desire to take a nap was drawing my head to the floor, despite the firefight raging over my head. John tossed away his handguns, out of bullets, and held his hands up to show me there was no more ammo. We were without weapons, and now suddenly without hope.

Someone started kicking down the door, though it barely registered in my foggy mind. John looked over his shoulder as the wood around the door hinges started to splinter and give way. Then he looked at me, and it was a look of hopelessness. He was such a strong man, so confident and handsome, and it was a look that just didn't belong on his face. For a moment he tried to crawl beneath the window towards me, but keen eyes saw the movement and shot directly at him. John ducked back into his corner, too far away to save me.

"Meg." His voice came softly, a dangerous warning that the end was near. John honestly didn't think we'd make it out alive. "I want you to know-"

"Save it."

I picked my ass off the floor and tried to run to the bedroom. I kept slipping and falling in my hastiness, making the process was slow, but I didn't give up. John had put Lo's duffle bag beneath the bed when he'd tucked me in and I _had_ to reach it. The bullets pouring into the bedroom had opened enough holes in the wall that I could see the sun setting outside. I dove for the bag and somehow got the handles wrapped around my hand. The pills John had given me affected my strength- I couldn't even pick the bag up with all my might. So I dragged it behind me like a mad wiggle worm and made it just into the hallway as the door split open. There was only a couple of tough looking gangsters at the door and not the entire army I'd been imagining.

With everything I had, I heaved the bag across the floor until it skid to a stop at John's feet. His fingers ripped into it and pulled out a mag and a gun, but it was too late. The bad men had their weapons drawn, and at this close range they couldn't miss if they tried.

"_HEY! FUCKERS!"_ I yelled, waving my arms like a crazy woman. Their guns pointed at me then as I found a stray bowl that had fallen from the kitchen counter, and I hurled that sucker as hard as I could at their heads.

Shots went off. Strange, but when you're shot, you don't even feel it at first. I just remember the impact like a punch in the chest, knocking me over. I remember screams, and more shots ringing out like an endless song of violence. _John is safe_, I thought. _That's all that matters. He's my one good deed- the only thing I'll ever do right to redeem myself from all the shit I've done. It's him._

And after that, everything went black.


End file.
